Yes, why? For once, I’m in agreement with him.
Mel offers us both a serene smile. “She can help you name them.”
“She’ll be in my way. She knows nothing about animals.”
“I know how to eat them,” I fire back.
He glowers at me. “Plus, she annoys me. Immensely.”
“Likewise!”
“Uh, children,” Ross interrupts, laughter in his voice.
“Amy can help you in the kitchen,” Kane says to Mel.
“Z has already volunteered his help,” Mel points out.
“And you’ve so helpfully volunteered Amy’s.” Standing, Kane aims his scowl my way. “Come with me then. Maybe doing something useful for a change will keep you from feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Feeling sorry for myself!” I repeat incredulously, springing to my feet. “How dare you!”
“I dare because no one in your life has had the guts to give you the honesty you need.”
“And I suppose there’s someone in your life honest enough to tell you that kidnapping is against the law!”
We glare furiously at each other.
“Good, all sorted then,” Mel concludes brightly, ushering us out the back door, the dogs lumbering to their feet and padding after us. “Enjoy yourselves,” she calls before closing the door in our faces.
46
AMY
––––––––
I stand resentfully next to Kane and his German Shepherd on the back porch. Dogs wander off in all directions to do their business. An ugly-looking chicken scratches in the dirt, occasionally fixing me with a beady stare. My heart feels as baleful as that creature.
Kane’s accusation still stings.Feeling sorry for myself!What am I supposed to be feeling? Excitement that he’s forcibly taken me away from my father and the life I’ve been living?
Kane is the first to break the stony silence. “I believe we’ve been thoroughly manipulated.”
I shoot him a heated look. “Welcome to my world.”
“Sulking?”
“That’s your label. Mine would be justifiable anger.”
“Get over it,” he says flatly. “We’re stuck with one another so we might as well call a truce on trading insults. At least it’ll stop me from strangling you.”
“Or nearly kissing me again,” I retort provokingly. I watch surprise creep into his eyes.Oh, yes, I’m rattling the box you keep putting me in.
He makes a move to say something then checks himself. A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. “I can only imagine how often that mouth of yours lands you in trouble.”
“More times than I can count,” I say. “My father despaired of ever—” I stop, aware of the grenade I just tossed into the conversation. Kane’s face, however, is schooled into a neutral expression so I dare to ask, “Have you heard from him?”
“We’re keeping in contact,” is his enigmatic reply.
“What did he say? Is he all right?”
